


Making It Up

by jagnikjen



Series: Thirty Day OTP Challenge [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Arguing, Established Relationship, Language, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6788392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jagnikjen/pseuds/jagnikjen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But for the love of queen and country, can you make an effort? Can you make an effort for me? I don’t fucking understand why we can’t come to an agreement on this one thing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making It Up

Greg stepped into the entryway, eyes sweeping the length of the hall and up the staircase. 

“Dammit, Mycroft!” Greg’s exclamation echoed into the brightly lit foyer. The chandelier above him glittered brightly. Lights shone from the lounge as well as the upstairs hall. He stomped forward to flick all the switches downward before taking the stairs stairs two at a time. He swiped a fist down each switch plate on his way to the bedroom. Blast that man. They’d had this conversation several times. He knew it didn’t matter. He _knew_ it didn’t. He growled in irritation.

Even if Mycroft earned a wage closer to Greg’s own, they could have handily paid the electricity bill between the two of them. It was principal of the thing, since Greg had scrimped for too many years. Leaving all the lights on was bloody pointless.

“What’s got your knickers in twist?” Mycroft asked, coming out of the en suite wiping his hands on a small hand towel.

Greg jumped, smacking a hand to his chest in surprise. His pulse rose further in the aftermath of being startled. “Fucking hell, Mycroft. You left every light on in your path. Again.”

“What does it matter?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t fucking matter. Except it does,” Greg snapped.

Mycroft’s lips thinned. He wasn’t particularly fond of the F-bomb, and Greg well knew it. Which is why he was dropping it so liberally at the moment.

Greg yanked his shirt tails from his trousers and tugged his tie loose and then free. He tossed it on the chest of drawers and planted his hands on his hips. “I’ve long ago accepted the financial differential in our relationship, and I don’t ask for much. But for the love of queen and country, can you make an effort? Can you make an effort for me? I don’t fucking understand why we can’t come to an agreement on this one thing.”

Mycroft’s eyes has gone wide and his mouth had fallen slightly open. “Greg, I…”

“You what, Mycroft? You’ve got a memory like a steel trap. You can’t tell me you just forget.”

“No, I—” He blinked in surprise.

Greg rarely unleashed his temper, but bloody hell, he really didn’t ask for much. “And you can’t have forgot my reasons.”

“No.” Mycroft twisted the towel, startled or nervous about Greg’s anger. He really didn’t blow up often.

“I’m so easy to please, Mycroft. I don’t make demands of your time nor do I become petulant when there’s so much you can’t tell me. Why is this still a thing?”

“I like the lights on.”

Greg’s eyes bugged out as he stared, trying to wrap his brain around… “Please tell me how having the light on in the loo—” He threw out his hand in the direction of the open bathroom door. “—makes any difference when you’re downstairs in the kitchen or sitting room.”

“It doesn’t. I just like the illumination when I come back upstairs.”

“That’s what fucking night lights are for—which we have.”

“Yes, well, it’s not bright enough for me to see when I come up the stairs.”

Greg huffed. “So instead of having a conversation and finding a solution that suits us both, you just ignore my feelings and leave all the fucking lights on? I’m not one of your goldfish who’s gonna be scared into letting you have your way.”

“Do you have to use _that_ word?”

“Yes, I bleedin’ have to, and you don’t get to lecture me right now.”

“Your language is—”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not going to have a conversation with you if you insist on—”

“Then we won’t have the conversation. Before I say something I shouldn’t, I’m going out for a bit.” Greg turned and darted from the room.

“Greg—”

“Gonna see if Stamford’s up for a pint,” he called as he descended so Mycroft would know where to start looking if he went missing. And also to assuage his anxiety. He still harbored a fear Greg would someday walk out. Greg wasn’t so mad that he’d allow Mycroft to fret about that. At the front door, he tucked his shirts back in then patted pockets for mobile, wallet, and keys before leaving the house. 

The rush of evening air cooled his over-heated face, and Greg took a deep draught. They didn’t fight often—Greg had few buttons, but the bloody lights were one of them. He hit Stamford’s number in his mobile.

After three rings, the familiar “H’lo?” sounded in his ear.

“Fancy a pint? I need to let Mycroft stew for an hour.”

Stamford’s chuckled came over the connection. “Yeah, sure, on my way.”

~*~*~

The entryway was lit by a torch standing on its end and Greg grinned. No other overhead lights seemed to be on, although maybe the hob light was on in the kitchen. He was fine with that.

“Greg?”

Greg rolled his eyes. Who else was it going to be without the piercing siren of the security alarm going off? “Coming, M.” He grabbed the torch and went up. Mycroft leaned against the door jamb to their room, wearing his tatty red plaid dressing gown and a contrite expression.

“Nice touch,” he said, holding it up before switching it off and setting it on the narrow table spanning the long wall.

“I’m sorry, Greg. Really. I…”

They met in the middle with a kiss and a hug.

“Me too, M.”

“I took the wrong tack with you and I apologize. Perhaps we can discuss the lighting situation at the weekend?”

“I’d like that. Apologies for my language. I was hacked off and doing it on purpose.”

“I know.”

Greg grinned against Mycroft’s lips. “I know you know. Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering about Time is the Longest Distance Between Two Hearts, Part II...I'm still working on it. The last plot wrinkle has been ironed out and I'll be writing on it this week. The beginning chapters of Part II have been cycling through to a beta reader and Scots picker. Progress is being made. Thanks for your patience.


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